


Holding It

by Cinco



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Embarrassment, Established Relationship, Grumpy Raincloud Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinco/pseuds/Cinco
Summary: Peter is injured and needs Wade's help... to pee. He's pretty grumpy about it.





	Holding It

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [bravinto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravinto/pseuds/bravinto)’s [The Ancient Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117682), a very cute Matt Murdock/Foggy Nelson Daredevil fic.
> 
> Thank you very much to MonkeyPie for betaing!

After a long battle and two hours at Avengers Tower getting injuries (mostly Peter’s, since Wade’s were already growing back) sorted out, they were finally back home getting ready to go to bed to sleep all day. A huge fleet of pretty gnarly aliens had attacked New York after midnight, and the Avengers had called both Spider-Man and Deadpool in to assist. The damages to both the city and the team had been considerable. Fifth Avenue was pretty much destroyed along with a fair amount of Times Square, and nearly every superhero had a broken bone. Peter had two: his left leg and right arm, plus he had a large wound on his left side just under his ribs where he’d taken half a hit from one of the aliens’ plasma watergun-things. Wade had lost one leg below the knee and about half his fingers across both hands, but the fingers had already grown back and his leg was most of the way there by the time they left the tower. And he was very experienced at hopping on one leg.

Peter was much crankier about his own injuries, knowing they would take much longer to heal than Wade’s ever did. The tower’s doctors estimated that he’d need about four days to heal the break in his arm and another day or two for his leg, and the wound might be an issue for a full week. Peter had said some typical “it was worth it to save the people of New York” stuff, but Wade knew he was secretly fuming. Peter hated being injured or sick, and stubbornly expected himself to go on with things as if he weren’t. Wade watched him bang through their apartment like an angry raincloud, occasionally knocking into things with his new crutch, and wanted to coo because he was so adorable. Peter would definitely not appreciate the sentiment, so he stayed silent until they reached the bedroom and then he helped Peter set his crutch against the wall on his side of the bed as Peter sat down on the edge. He looked exhausted.

Peter sighed and looked up at him. “Sleep now?”

“Sure, babycakes,” Wade answered. “Do you want to change?” He and Peter both were wearing the scrubs that Tony provided for going home from the infirmary, for the drive in a chauffeured car that was also provided. Peter was full of free pain meds, too, and in possession of a full bottle for the rest of the week. Thank goodness they’d moved up in the superhero world and didn’t have to swing home injured anymore. It was just a few of the perks that made up for the bureaucratic bullshit of working with the Avengers.

Peter looked down at his light green scrubs and then at his cast and sling. When he looked back up at Wade, his face was half angry, half defeated. 

Poor bean. “Maybe it’s easier if you just sleep in those for now,” Wade suggested.

Peter nodded. “We match,” he said, nodding at Wade’s scrubs.

“Not for long,” Wade said, and took off his shirt and threw it at the trash bin as he walked to the dresser to get a pair of Spiderman boxers—they always made Peter smile, and Wade figured he could use a little distraction. He traded his scrub pants for them and gave Peter a subtle model pose, ass angled forward to emphasize the boxers. This pair was red with a black web pattern and scattered Spidey faces, and they got him a tiny, wry smile from Peter.

Wade sat down carefully on the edge of the bed next to Peter’s wounded side and put his arm around Peter’s shoulders, curling around him. “Do you need anything, baby boy? Glass of water? Snack?”

Peter exhaled and leaned his head in to meet Wade’s. “Yes, please. Water,” Peter clarified, and Wade kissed his cheek and went to the kitchen. He came back and put the glass of water in Peter’s uninjured hand as he sat back down. Peter drank about half of it and then went to reach across himself to place the glass on his nightstand, making it about halfway before the wound in his side made him gasp in pain and then groan in frustration. 

Wade took the glass out of his hand and leaned across him to put it down. “It’s okay, honey, I can help. It won’t be long until you’re all healed up—it’ll just seem like it.”

Peter rolled his eyes angrily in his established pattern of kind of being a jerk while injured. When they’d first begun dating he’d yelled at Wade for taking care of him after he’d been exposed to some villain’s toxic gas grenades. He was getting better at accepting help, but Wade knew it still wasn’t easy for him. 

“Let’s just go to sleep,” Peter said, and Wade nodded and helped Peter stand up so he could pull the covers down for him. He guided Peter underneath them to lay on his back while Wade pulled the blankets back up to Peter’s chest and then turned off the light. Then he walked around to his own side of the bed and lay down, stretching his new leg and ankle through the cool sheets. He loved the very comfortable bed they’d picked out six months before when they furnished their new apartment together. It was especially wonderful to lie in your own bed after a long hard fight and a lot of energy spent growing back limbs and fingers. Wade was going to sleep so well and eat so much delivery tomorrow. He nearly purred, thinking about it.

But then he realized that Peter was still awake. Peter, who usually fell asleep almost before his head hit the pillow—unless they were in bed to do something besides sleep. Wade needed about five minutes to get comfortable before he was out. But tonight—well, this morning, it was early—Peter was still staring at the ceiling. 

“You okay, Petey?” Wade asked softly. “Are you going through the meds faster than they said you would?”

Peter waited a few beats to respond. “No, that’s not it. I…” He trailed off, and Wade knew better than to interrupt him. “I have to pee.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, that’s going to be a little complicated.” He sat up and pushed their blankets down. “I’ll come help you onto your crutch, and—“

“I don’t want help,” Peter said, calmer than before but clearly still angry. “I am a grown spider man and I can go to the bathroom all by myself.”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t,” Wade said mildly. Sleep was so close, and his patience was waning. “Also, maybe get over yourself. This is way less hard than that time last month when you had to hold my severed arm on until it healed. I am fully qualified to assist you in relieving yourself.”

“I just really hate it,” Peter whined.

“Yeah, everybody knows. But strangely you are totally fine with asking me for a drink whenever I get off the couch, and letting me do any and all cooking that occurs in this household. You can accept help with this kind of thing, too.” He reached over to stroke his hand down Peter’s good shoulder soothingly. “Come on, let’s go take a leak.”

They made it into the bathroom without incident, with Wade bracing Peter’s right side gently to avoid his broken arm as he lifted the toilet lid and seat up. “Whenever you’re ready,” Wade said, trying to add a little levity. “Ready, aim, fire—“

“I don’t know if I can,” Peter admitted in a tiny voice. He reached his good arm towards his waistband, but the crutch under his arm made the angle awkward.

“Oh, okay, we can fix that,” Wade said, moving the crutch to rest in front of the sink as he steadied Peter low on his hip, well away from where bandages covered the wound in his side.

Peter tried again, reaching for his dick under his waistband—and then stiffened in pain and withdrew his hand. 

Wade understood instantly that Peter’s arm had pulled tight against his wound. “Well shit, kiddo,” he said. “Looks like further services are required.” He reached into Peter’s pants and lifted out his soft cock.

“This is so humiliating,” Peter said, resolutely looking straight ahead at the bathroom wall. “This can’t be what you imagined when you pictured us living together.”

“Actually, it’s exactly what I pictured. Although I thought we’d be in the shower, and having a better time.” Wade smiled and kissed the side of Peter’s head. “Think of it as a preview for when you’re old.”

“You know I hate it when you joke about that,” Peter said, and glanced down to see Wade position him correctly as if he’d done it a zillion times. Which he had. Pissing with someone else’s dick was not really different once you corrected for the height difference. 

“Fire when ready, Commander,” Wade said, giving Peter’s hip a light squeeze. “Shoot to kill.” 

There was a long silence.

“Um,” Peter said. “I… can’t.”

“Performance anxiety,” Wade said sympathetically, while still utterly intending the double entendre. “Okay, I have a plan.” He let go of Peter’s dick to turn on the sink tap and then took him back in hand. “How’s that?”

“Give me a minute,” Peter said. 

Wade gave him two. Nothing.

“Okay, how about more cover? You hang on to the sink for a second and I’ll turn on the shower.” Peter nodded and gripped the edge of the counter with his good hand. Wade kept one hand near Peter’s side in case he lost his balance and took two steps over to the shower knobs to turn them on full blast. 

He settled back in again behind Peter and lined up his dick as Peter let go of the sink. “Better?”

“I sure hope so,” Peter said, clearly still embarrassed but steeling himself. “Can you… I mean I know you can’t really look away, but could you, I don’t know, occupy yourself somehow?”

“Sure. In the mood for some Taylor Swift? Consider me your jukebox and make a selection!”

“Oh god, whatever, Wade, Jesus. Just let me pretend you aren’t paying attention.” Peter said, waving his hand impatiently.

“Okay, let’s see. Oooh. Look what you made me do. Look what you made me do. Look what you just made me,” Wade sang, semi-quietly, trying to keep his hips still but failing a little bit.

“Very funny, you asshole,” Peter said, interrupting him.

“Okay, no problem, how about an older number? Something from back in the day. So it’s gonna be forever, or it’s gonna go down in flames. You can tell me when it’s over, if the high was worth the pain.” He crooned in a low voice, turning his face towards the shower while still keeping an eye on the proceedings below. 

“As I believe I have said before, you really like her too much.” Peter was very judgmental about his taste in music. 

“Yup. Her tunes are quality and her hair is like a baby unicorn’s,” Wade confirmed. He picked back up with the song: “Got a long list of ex-lovers, they’ll tell you I’m insane.” He couldn’t help an aside: “I really identify with this one.” Then he picked back up. “‘Cause you know I love the plaaayers, and you love the game.” He danced just a tiny bit so as not to disturb Peter, mostly nodding his chin. “’Cause we’re young and we’re reckless. We’ll take this way too far. It’ll leave you breathless, or with a nasty scar. Got a long list of ex-lovers, they’ll tell you I’m insane—“ Wade carefully did not react as he felt and heard Peter start to urinate. Taylor Swift, doing the trick. “—I’ve got a blank space, baby. And I’ll write your name.” 

He hummed the chorus again as Peter finished his pretty impressively long pee. Wade had used the restroom in the tower’s infirmary, but Peter had a bladder like an elephant. “Shall I, I don’t know—shake it off?”

Peter barked out an amused-annoyed laugh. “Please.” 

Wade did and tucked him back in his scrubs, patting his dick over the material. “Okay, baby. You ready to go back to bed?”

“Yes,” Peter said, sounding exhausted again. “After you wash your hands. And mine, while you’re at it.”

Wade rolled his eyes, knowing Peter wouldn’t see him do it. His boyfriend was hella fastidious about hygiene, which Wade appreciated most of the time. He could have done without it right then, when even irresistible earworms couldn’t keep him from thinking longingly of the comfy bed waiting for them in the next room. 

He moved the crutch just out of the way and guided Peter a couple of steps to the sink so he could brace his lower body against it. Then he curved his arms around Peter to turn on the tap and settled his chin on Peter’s shoulder so he could wash Peter’s good hand in both of his. Then he dried him off with a hand towel and kissed under his ear. Tomorrow maybe Peter would let Wade give him a sponge bath and he’d get to carefully wash the rest of him, or at least the parts not covered in bandages, a sling, or a super high-tech StarkCast. 

“Bedtime,” he announced as he put the hand towel back on its ring. Peter leaned back against him while Wade restored his crutch and they made their way back to the bedroom.

In bed, Wade waited for Peter’s breathing to change. Just as he thought Peter was about to drop off to sleep, he said, “Thank you, Wade. I’m sorry I’m awful sometimes—“

“Never,” Wade said, and reached over to hold Peter’s hand where it lay at his side. “I know you’re frustrated and you hate being injured. But I like taking care of you. I have big plans to pamper the heck out of you until you’re all better, so prepare yourself now.”

“Sigh,” Peter replied aloud, his voice fond. He was silent for a bit, and his breathing was slow and even. He was almost asleep. “I love you.” 

Wade squeezed his hand with just the barest pressure. “I know,” Wade said, in his very quietest voice, and settled in to wait until Peter was conked out before slipping off to sleep himself. He’d need his rest to make Peter breakfast in bed when they woke up later in the day, and then he had some plans for an 80s movie marathon and maybe giving his boyfriend a very long, extravagant, extremely diverting blowjob if his side had healed enough. He’d show Peter that he knew how to make convalescence fun.


End file.
